He waited for his "beloved" to disappear down the stairs. Saigo hadn't moved from his spot; he wasn't standing there for her anyway... Making sure there wasn't a soul around, he leaned back against the cool marble wall, the entire day rushing through his head like a mountain stream...
He'd killed time during the day with training. Fortunately, he'd found a room in the basement equipped as a training hall – mats, wooden dummies, even a rack with practice weapons (blunt, of course). Training in the courtyard meant putting himself on display for dozens of eyes – windows, guards, curious servants – and Saigo had no use for extra eyes; they were a deadly liability.
He worked himself until he was drenched in sweat. Kicks against the dummy sent dull pain through his not-fully-healed ribs; chopping motions with the practice sword made his shoulder muscles burn. But it was a good pain – the pain of control, reminding him that his body was still his own. After a shower that washed away the salt and tension, he immersed himself in the huge marble tub in the mansion's bath complex.
The hot water enveloped him like living flesh. Mona, with her eternal predatory politeness, offered to send "assistants" for a massage. He refused outright. Sitting in the near-scalding water, he gazed through the high window at the sunset sky, painted in crimson and gold.
His thoughts flowed lazily, like steam over the water. 'What does she really want? To plant her pawn under me? Mona is definitely not a simple maid. Gathering information? Or...' He mentally snorted. 'Does she think she can win me over with 'female attention' or this showy concern?' Thoughts of Katarina's 'sincere feelings' he didn't even entertain. For him, it was pure profanity, a performance to achieve goals known only to her. Love... it was hard for him to judge, but he knew for sure that even simple respect is born in battle, in trials, in shared victories and losses. Not at the snap of a capricious empress's fingers. 'Although... Considering how much she loves herself...' He remembered the countless portraits, the mirrors in every room. 'She clearly struggles to control her emotions. She is extremely quick-tempered and proud, perhaps... that could be turned to his advantage, but not now.'
"Right now, I need instructions. Clear and precise."
With these thoughts, he had climbed out of the tub earlier that day, as if reborn from the steam. He dressed in the same black, comfortable, but loud clothes. Dinner was quick and, as always, impeccably delicious. 'Gotta give the cook credit,' he thought not without a hint of bitterness. 'Knows his stuff.' After shooing away Mona with her perpetual 'how else may I serve, master?' and once again refusing the offered 'bed warmer' for the night (a euphemism that made him shudder), he was finally alone in his luxurious prison cell.
He didn't sleep. He dimmed the lamps, sat in the chair by the window, merging with the shadows, and waited patiently. Earlier in the day, he had noticed: the windows here, though expensive, weren't barred. Ordinary frames with sturdy, but non-magical, glass. Meaning the path to the roof was clear.
Exactly at midnight, counted by his internal, mission-hardened clock, he stood up. A light push – and the casement window swung open silently. A couple of silent, precise movements – and he, like a shadow, slipped outside, hooked onto the cornice, pulled himself up, and found himself on the slanted tiled roof. He crouched, holding his breath, listening. Below, at the entrance to his chambers, two guard-dummies stood frozen. Not a rustle, not a yawn. Inanimate.
And then the encounter with Katarina, and now here he was, Saigo - the First Blade of the Cotto Clan, sitting in the shadow of a huge stone urn where some thorny, night-scented bush grew wildly, waiting for who-knows-what...
"Hey, brother, I see you haven't been wasting your time." A voice sounded right by his ear, quiet as the rustle of an owl's wing.
Saigo didn't flinch or cry out. Only the muscles in his back tensed to stone-like hardness, and he slowly turned his head.
Ayato. She stood half a meter away, balancing on the roof ridge with the grace of a cat. The moonlight silvered her long, dark hair and tight black bodysuit, outlining every curve of her fragile yet lethal body. She arched her back in a silent question, letting him appreciate the view.
"If you'd been standing any closer, I would've killed you on pure reflex," Saigo stated evenly, without emotion. His eyes were cold points in the darkness.
"You're so mean, brother Saigo," she pouted, but a familiar mischievous sparkle shone in her black eyes.
"I'm waiting for your report. And how long have you been here anyway?"
"Why, ashamed if I tell about your flirtations..?" she asked cheerfully, but then straightened up as the guy's fist whistled past a couple of centimeters from her temple.
Ayato flinched slightly, and the playfulness vanished, replaced by cold professionalism. "There's chaos in the clan. Total chaos. Imperial troops entered the province nearest to Saint-Bas yesterday, and... stopped. For how long – who the hell knows, don't even ask me. Our network in the capital is smashed to smithereens, but surprisingly, all the people were released. Only the deepest 'moles' remain, and even they are on edge. And you..." she took a step forward, poking him in the chest with her finger. "How are you? I see you're already getting handsy with the Empress?" a mocking note rang in her voice again.
Saigo just exhaled, looking somewhere over her head. "I held her hand. Until it cracked. But I think you heard."
"Wa-ow!" Ayato feigned surprise, spreading her hands. "How romantic!"
"My assessment is this," he continued, ignoring her antics. "She wants to make me the new Emperor and her husband." He finally looked her in the eyes. "But it seems to me like... nonsense. A facade. There must be something else here, though I don't know what yet. I had to make a deal: I don't run away and behave nicely, she doesn't touch the clan. But who knows how long this fury's patience will last? We need a plan. What did the Leader say?"
"He's working on it," Ayato replied, and suddenly... she laughed softly.
"What's so funny?" Saigo's eyebrows crept downward.
"You two would look... you know," she made a wide gesture, depicting a throne. "You – on the throne, stern and important. Moving troops with a wave of your hand..." she imitated a regal gesture, "...and she..." Ayato wrapped her arms around an imaginary waist next to her and cozied up to the invisible Saigo.
"Stop talking nonsense," he cut her off, but the corner of his mouth twitched against his will. "What should I do?"
"Ahh, you just don't understand, brother Saigo, the whims of the female heart..." Ayato shook her head, but immediately became serious again. "The situation has... stabilized for now, but the Old Man needs more time. Right now, he's gathering strength, negotiating with someone on the outside. I don't know all the details."
"Understood. So for now, I'll obediently play the role of expensive furniture." Bitterness tinged his voice.
"Hmm..." Ayato suddenly moved closer. Fast as a snake. Her fingers touched his cheek. "I'd sit on you... Not like furniture, but like a throne."
Whish-Crack! Faster than thought, his hand slapped her wrist with a crunch, knocking it away.
"Ow! That hurts, you know!" she jumped back, rubbing her wrist, but there was no offense in her eyes, only excitement.
"Is that all?" Saigo asked, relentlessly.
"Yeah, well... I'll go..." she took a step back, dissolving into the shadow of the urn.
"No, wait." His voice stopped her. "How is... Mari?"
"Hee-hee!" Ayato turned around, a pleased smile blooming on her face. "She's furious. Heard she put so much pressure on the Old Man he almost swore a blood oath to work faster. Your precious little dandelion is in a rage, brother."
'Mari?' Saigo made a genuinely surprised face. 'Usually quiet, meek... Furious?' That was... at the very least, unexpected, but even so, a warm wave washed over him. "Tell her... I'll be back. I promise."
"How swe-eet!" Ayato drawled and reached for his cheek again. This time, he simply deflected her hand, but without the slap.
"Grump," she pouted. "You go now. My prolonged presence here might be noticed. Oh, and..." she suddenly froze, looking down somewhere, deep into the estate grounds. Her eyes narrowed. "Your beloved, I think, is coming back."
"Seems like it..." Saigo gritted out. "Gotta climb back through the window."
Ayato, however, bowed with theatrical elegance, blew him an air kiss, and dissolved into the night as silently as she had appeared.
Saigo remained alone on the roof. The feeling of slight warmth from the news about Mari was replaced by a cold heaviness in his stomach. He pressed his back against the cold stone of the urn, merging with the shadow, ready at any moment to leap from the corner onto the cornice.